


Light Eyes

by fiendlikequeen



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: 'oops now i'm love with my captain', Dialogue Light, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mild Smut, Tenderness, how to keep your First happy: a guide by james fitzjames, james takes one for the team (and enjoys it), my frosty boys are tender and everything is FINE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-27 09:03:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20945795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiendlikequeen/pseuds/fiendlikequeen
Summary: Post-Carnivale, Little speculates on the improvement to Crozier's mood. Fitzjames muses on this suggestion - knowing that Little is mistaken.





	Light Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I just imagined Little or someone being like "hey, so the captain suddenly seems to want to live and just generally is in a better mood, guess he's doing a lot better without the whiskey" and Fitzjames, who is on the regular sucking the soul right out of Francis, is like "yeah that's it for sure."
> 
> My initial idea for this was very lighthearted. It's a little more serious than I expected but my chilly boys deserve nothing less. Also, forgive the purple prose, but it feels appropriate. Tobias chews the scenery, I write purple prose. It's what we DO.

"Surely you have seen, sir," Lt. Little begins, "that the captain's mood is much improved."

"It hasn't escaped my notice," James returns.

In _Terror's _wardroom, the two of them are studying one of the sea charts. Little, who will lead the first sledge party to King William Land, grows more and more anxious by the day. He consults the charts nightly, staring at them as if, suddenly, the ink will leap from the page and point them to safety. Tonight, James has joined Little, and the two study the maps together. It is a diversion as he waits for Francis; waiting for what purpose Little need not know, of course.

Little isn't looking at the map now. He is leaning back in his chair, a cold cup of coffee in hand. More than ever, his face is heavy with sadness, lines of grief and stamps of worry marked in his brow and under his eyes. With such sorrow in him, he manages to look twenty years older than he truly is.

"I am glad of it. To see Captain Crozier in better spirits is heartening. For the officers and the men. Perhaps Sir John had the right idea, to abstain entirely," says Little. "The captain is a different man without the whiskey."

"The whiskey, yes," says James.

But it's not the whiskey. Not entirely, anyway. Francis is a different man, however. Or perhaps he is the man he was before their frigid arctic nights and an even more frigid rejection; the man Blanky so clearly loves and upon whom Jopson dotes.

Francis is no longer the terror of the _H.M.S. Terror. _No longer do wincing officers beat hasty retreats from _Terror's _great cabin, their proverbial tails between their legs. The ship's timbers no longer ring with that fierce Irish temper, raised in bellows fit to make Tuunbaq's roar no more frightening than the mewls of a hungry kitten. Their sour, sullen First is now even known to _smile _on occasion at someone other than a particular rough-speaking Yorkshireman. James remembers a particularly shocking incident:

"A capital idea, Mr. Irving," Francis had said, in response to some suggestion the former had made in the transportation of their food stores for their upcoming walk. In truth, James did not remember the comment, since Francis had inclined his head at Irving and offered him the warmth of a smile that touched his blue, blue eyes.

It had been a small smile, but since it hadn't looked as though the captain had just been prodded with a stick, or swallowed a cup of lemon juice, it had been enough to shock the wardroom into silence and Le Vesconte into choking on a biscuit.

"Capital, indeed," James had agreed, as he thumped Dundy on the back, who coughed again at the astonishment of seeing First and Second agree.

It cannot be denied. Francis's mood is no longer hideous; more even than that, it is as pleasant as can be expected under their circumstances. No longer is he the sourest man on the expedition. Far from it, truly - he has a renewed spirit. The men can sense, without him needing to say it, that there is hope in their commander for the first time. A desire to live. Lady Silence's accusation that Francis wants to die no longer rings true, and the men can feel it. Burdened as Francis is by the weight of his role, there is in him an abiding and desperate yearning to live, to survive.

Of course, this does nothing but make James horribly smug. James, who could rightly be accused of more than a little peacocking, has a new reason for self-congratulation. After all, every soul on _Terror _and _Erebus _has _him_ to thank that no longer is Francis the most miserable creature for a thousand miles. 

James will freely admit that for a long time he has considered Francis quite desirable. This had only added to their mutual animosity, though Francis would have been blind to it - James had loathed that such a damnably frustrating and bullheaded man could also be so exquisitely _attractive _to him. But after Francis's recovery, and that disastrous Carnivale, with their pain raw and their worries finally laid bare, the time had come to finally _do _something about it.

James had noticed that he was being watched with something other than abject hatred. They still quarrelled, but with less than half of their usual ferocity. No more was James in danger of being struck, as he had been that horrid night, when Francis had been so low in spirit and so high on drink. But there was something unspoken between them, a charge, a frisson.

Unspoken until one evening, James had gotten on his knees and with the barest explanation, opened Francis's fly, pulled out his cock, and sucked until Francis had cursed, come, and then gone entirely limp.

There had been no more disagreements, not after that. The very next morning, James heard a report that Francis had actually taken his breakfast with the wardroom, instead of cloistered in the great cabin.

James had watched in delight as the next evening a very bashful Francis had stumbled through what were the overtures of seduction. He'd put the man out of his misery after enjoying a few minutes of blushing and stammering, and had instead taken Francis in hand. Of particular satisfaction had been the way James had been able to make Francis's eyes roll back in his head, and rough curses in English and Irish come rolling off his tongue. He'd taken a risk and kissed Francis, sucking that tongue into his mouth until Francis had groaned, pulled back, and called him a filthy name in a way that suggested utter delight.

Not twelve hours later, Francis cheerfully greeted Lady Silence in Inuktitut, when Goodsir brought her aboard _Terror _to consult with the captain on local game.

Though his mood was quick to change, Francis remained somewhat coy for a little while. During their third bout, James produced a vial of rapeseed grease and made a suggestion about how it could be used. Francis, blushing all the way down his neck, had bashfully asked for direction:

“You’ll have to, er, steer the ship, James.”

Poor, lovely, blushing Francis. Hard to believe that the plain-speaking man who had been unafraid to berate Sir John before his officers could not name this act. It was ridiculous; it was wonderful.

James grinned at him, toothily. “On your back, then,” he ordered. As Francis shuffled further down onto the bunk, something else occurred to James. He made a show of surprise, even though Francis’s inexperience had been plain since the beginning. “Do you mean to say you’ve never – ahem – berthed in this particular port, Francis?”

A fierce flush, and Francis’s eyes blackened beneath the lamplight. An indubitable confirmation, paired with an attempt at humour. “As unknown to me as the Passage,” he said, as James swung a leg over Francis’s body and seated himself.

James, who has many times both taken a man this way and been taken, let his smile widen into a wolfish smirk. “Let’s make a passage of our own then, hm?”

He’d determined to break Francis in as one might a reluctant horse; he’d neglected to consider that Francis is a great bloody stallion of a man, and hardly the trained pacers of his past. Happily, he introduced Francis to the singular pleasure of that new form of intimacy, and was rewarded with groans and growls and a ride so wonderfully rough James was worried that he would be thrown.

Before he came, Francis pulled James down into his body and kissed him fiercely, and words were panted hot and insistent into James's mouth, that God, don't stop, that he feels so fucking good, oh God, don't stop-

The next day, Hodgson was in danger of losing his jaw with how far it dropped when Francis actually _laughed _at some fool remark of his.

The men don't know it, but they see the benefits of James's careful ministrations. Having his more masculine needs regularly attended to agrees with Francis. James laughs when he thinks of this. If he had known it would be so easy to curb Francis's poor behaviour, he would have gone to Francis in Greenhithe before they sailed. 

The men thrive under this new Francis, as well as they can in such a climate. The men thrive, and James basks in the glory of his achievement.

This new arrangement is not without its benefits to James. There is the benefit of a steady lover - something James has never experienced - of becoming familiar with another man's body, and knowing it nearly as well as his own. And of course James takes as much pleasure in their encounters as Francis does; Francis is, James has come to discover, an unselfish and considerate partner. There is a brand of zealous selflessness in Francis to which James had been blind, one that makes him a self-sacrificing captain and a generous lover.

"Was that good?" asked Francis, after the first time he had taken James in his mouth. "Did you like that?"

James, who was lying in Francis's bunk, weak-limbed, trembling, and utterly spent, had given a hollow laugh. He pulled Francis by the nightshirt so he could devour the other man's mouth with his own; in so doing, he could taste himself on Francis's lips. "You're a veritable natural," he told him.

Francis had looked as though he wasn't sure whether to be flattered or insulted, but had shrugged, flopped down onto the bunk, and promptly gone to sleep. In the morning, when they were pretending that nothing more than words had passed between them the previous night, Francis traced his fingers down the back of James's hand. In a hushed tone, he had promised James that despite being a 'veritable natural,' he felt certain skills needed a great deal of practice.

The words had gone through James, and had left him hot, bothered, and hiding his hardening cock with his folded hands.

But the benefits James reaps go beyond this. He would never have imagined Francis as tender, but there is no other word for how he becomes during those private moments in his berth. Flushed pink with pleasure and panting in delight, Francis offers more gentle kindness and doting fondness than James could ever have imagined. As often as James draws filth and profanity in grunts and growls from Francis's lips, he also hears praise. James is called lovely, and told he is beautiful, and praised as precious and darling and dear as much as any new bride would be cherished.

Never before has he been termed lovely as he sucked a man's stiff prick; not once has any man buggered him senseless and kissed him and told him he was beautiful. James wants to tease Francis for his sentiment, but he knows it would offend. In truth, it would break James's heart, too - for he adores the knowledge that Francis truly thinks him lovely, a thing worthy to be prized.

James has been loved, yes. But not once has anyone ever looked at him with such light eyes and made him believe that he is so worthy of being treasured. Such an unexpected blessing; James had first sought out Francis as nothing more than a playmate, but has been given a most beloved friend instead.

Friend? Is that the only word he has for Francis?

Were he a woman, he knows the name he would give Francis, and the one he would receive in turn. A name that others have scorned to give, and to be given. But being a man, 'friend' is the best he can offer.

A gentle cough from Little brings James back to the present. He knows not how long he has sat there in that uncomfortable chair, day-dreaming of Francis as starrily as a schoolgirl with her first infatuation. Little, however, seems to be blind to James's silent flights of fancy. The man continues to stare at the charts, until both men pause at a familiar sound. 

They hear the door to the great cabin open, followed by light footfalls. No longer does Francis go thudding about _Terror _with the heavy, clomping footsteps of a man stone drunk. His step is light, as gentle, as he has become. Then the man himself appears.

"Good evening, gentlemen," he says, gesturing that neither of them should rise.

"Sir," says Little.

"Need to borrow Captain Fitzjames for a moment," Francis explains. He says it perfectly innocently, as if he merely needs to confer with his Second on some terribly dull administrative affair. All that betrays him is how he has begun to blush, redness creeping up his cheeks and settling in his ears. It's strange - but deliciously satisfying - to see a maiden's blush on Francis's craggy face, and to know that it is _James _and _only _James who puts it there.

"Of course," says James. He downs the rest of his coffee and rises from the table. "Good evening, Edward."

"And you as well, sir."

Before James follows Francis back to the great cabin, the pair of them turn back to Little.

"Get some rest, lieutenant," says Francis. As if he has done this their whole voyage, he claps Little on the shoulder. Casual and fatherly but so very tender. The tenderness James has drawn out from Francis is now given to the rest of the crew, too. The response it provokes from Little is equally affecting, for the young man instantly sags against Francis's hand. "Surely you've earned it by your work."

"Thank you, sir," says Little. Dismissed, he leaves the wardroom, heading the opposite direction to Francis and James.

When they are safely out of earshot in the great cabin, James speaks. "Must I now earn _my_ rest too, Francis?"

He expects Francis to start, even to frown. But Francis smiles, a wide, gap-toothed grin. His eyes glitter by the light of the Preston's Patent Illuminators, and the frozen boards of the deck creak as Francis crosses them to pull James into his arms and kiss him soundly. "Let's to bed too, hm? Though not to rest."

James meets Francis's smile with one of his own. When Francis turns away to lead James to the berth, James thumps him sharply on the arse. James is met with a grunt and then a scowl. There is the man he first knew. Though Francis doesn't know it and James would never say, James used to stand at _Erebus's _stern and raise his spyglass, to search out Francis pacing the deck of _Terror._

Such a sight had once frustrated him as much as it had intrigued him; now he merely laughs at this show of temper. 

"Into bed at once, you peevish creature," says James.

With a barking laugh, Francis drags him there.

**Author's Note:**

> Anyway I listened to "I Just Had Sex" on loop while I wrote this. "Having sex can make a nice man out the meanest," indeed.


End file.
